Chapter 5: Morning Devotion
The first slivers of dawn, fractured by the stained-glass windows into jewels of amethyst and rose, painted stripes across the rumpled sheets. Draco woke to the peculiar silence of a room that had, hours before, been filled with the sounds of straining bodies and shattered composure. His body felt heavy, pleasantly used, his muscles languid. And then he became aware of the warmth pressed along his side.
Serenity was still asleep. Her wild strawberry-blonde hair was a tangled halo across the pillow, her lips slightly parted. The sheet was pooled around her waist, exposing the smooth, pale plane of her back, the delicate bumps of her spine. In sleep, the calculating sharpness was gone from her face, replaced by a vulnerability that made his chest feel oddly tight. This was the unguarded truth of her, the raw material before it was forged into weapons and shields.
A possessive heat, different from the frenzied hunger of the night, stirred in his gut. He wanted to taste that vulnerability, to consume it before she could hide it away again.
He moved with the silent precision of a predator. The sheets whispered as he shifted down the bed. The air was still thick with their mingled scents—sex, sweat, and her particular perfume of jasmine and wild magic. He hooked his fingers in the sheet and tugged it down, revealing the full, pale curve of her ass, the long lines of her thighs. She sighed in her sleep, a soft, unconscious sound, and rolled slightly onto her back, one arm flopping above her head.
Perfect.
He settled between her legs, gently pushing her thighs apart. She offered no resistance, her body pliant in sleep. The thatch of curly strawberry-blonde hair at the junction of her thighs was damp, the skin around it still flushed from the night’s activities. He could smell her, that musky, intimate scent that had been on his face, on his fingers, now rising directly from the source. It was intoxicating.
He didn’t start gently. He lowered his mouth and licked a broad, flat stripe from her perineum up to the swollen bud of her clit.
A shiver went through her. A low, throaty murmur escaped her lips. Her hips twitched, a faint, involuntary undulation.
He did it again, slower this time, savoring the taste, salty and complex. He licked into her, his tongue probing the folds, finding the entrance to her body and pressing inside briefly before withdrawing to circle her clit. She was already softening, awakening, her body responding to the stimulus even as her mind slept on. Her flavor bloomed on his tongue, richer now, layered with the remnants of his own release from hours before. The taste of their combined essences was a dark, possessive thrill.
He focused on her clit, sucking the hardened bud into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her slightly, opening her wider to his feast.
Her breathing hitched. Changed. It was no longer the deep, even rhythm of sleep but something quicker, shallower. A soft moan filtered into the quiet room. Her fingers, which had been splayed loosely on the sheet, curled into fists.
“Mmm…” she sighed, her head rolling on the pillow.
He increased the pressure, his tongue moving in faster, more deliberate circles. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them, finding that rough, spongy spot deep within. Her inward gasp was sharp. Her eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and clouded with confusion and nascent pleasure.
She looked down her body, her gaze unfocused. She saw the blonde crown of his head buried between her thighs, felt the relentless, masterful work of his mouth and fingers. For a moment, there was only shock in her green eyes. Then, a slow, dawning recognition, and something else—a surrender that seemed to surprise her as much as it did him.
“Draco…?” Her voice was slurred, thick with sleep.
He didn’t answer with words. He answered by sucking harder on her clit, his fingers pumping into her with a steady, insistent rhythm.
“Oh, fuck,” she breathed. Her hands came down, not to push him away, but to tangle in his hair. Her grip was tentative at first, then tightened, pulling him closer, grinding herself against his face. “Oh, god… right there…”
She was fully awake now, but a different kind of awake. The usual defensive sarcasm was gone, incinerated by the sheer physical reality of what he was doing to her. She was just sensation. Her back arched off the bed, a beautiful, straining curve. Her pleas began, falling from her lips in a broken stream.
“Please… don’t stop… just like that…”
He drove her through one orgasm with brutal efficiency. Her body seized, a high, sharp cry torn from her throat as she came against his mouth, her juices slicking his chin. He didn’t pause. He gentled his tongue but kept the pressure constant, lapping at her through the convulsions, not letting the sensitivity fade before building it again.
“No, wait… too sensitive,” she whimpered, but her hips were still canting upward, begging for more.
He ignored her. He knew her body better than she did in this moment. He switched techniques, tracing light, maddening circles around her overstimulated clit before plunging his tongue deep inside her, fucking her with it while his thumb took over the work on her nub.
“You’re going to come again,” he murmured against her soaked skin, his voice a low vibration that zipped straight through her.
And she did. This one was slower, a deep, rolling wave that built and built until it crashed over her, leaving her trembling and gasping, tears beading at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t… I can’t anymore…”
He withdrew his fingers and tongue. He moved up her body, his own arousal pressed hard against her thigh. He looked down at her face, flushed and tear-streaked, her eyes glazed with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. This was more than submission; it was a utter dismantling.
“You can,” he said, his voice husky. He positioned himself at her entrance. “And you will.”
He pushed into her in one smooth, deep stroke. She was so wet, so open from her orgasms and his ministrations, that he slid in easily, filling her completely. A choked sob was her only response. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back.
He set a punishing pace from the start, each thrust a deliberate collision designed to prolong her sensitivity into agony. He was fucking her through a third peak, his own release a distant thunder on the horizon. He wanted this one to last. He wanted to watch her break.
“Who does this belong to?” he gritted out, his pelvis grinding against her clit with every inward drive.
Her answer was a wail, torn from the depths of her soul. “You! You, Draco… God, please…”
Her third orgasm was a silent, shattering thing. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream, her entire body locking rigid for a long moment before collapsing into boneless slackness. Only then did he allow his own control to fracture. With a guttural roar, he emptied himself into her, his own climax a raw, shuddering release that seemed to drain him of all thought, all pretense.
He collapsed atop her, their sweat-slicked skin sticking together. For a long time, the only sound was their ragged breathing harmonizing in the quiet room. The jewels of light on the sheets had shifted, brightening to gold.
Slowly, he rolled off her, onto his back. She didn’t move, one arm flung over her eyes. The silence stretched, thick and meaningful.
After a few minutes, she finally spoke, her voice hoarse. “The grimoire.”
He turned his head to look at her. “What about it?”
“You were right.” She lowered her arm, turning to face him. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by a weary, clear-eyed sharpness. But it wasn’t aimed at him. It was a shared look. “It’s just a tool. The real magic…” Her gaze flickered to the vial on her bedside, which pulsed with a soft, steady light. “…is in the reaction. Not the ingredient.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. It was an unexpectedly tender gesture. “So what’s the next experiment, Hawke?”
A slow, genuine smile touched her lips for the first time that morning. It transformed her face. “I think we’ve just begun it.”
“I think we’ve just begun it.”
Her smile was a rare, unguarded curve that reached her eyes, and Draco felt a sudden tightness in his chest, an inferno of longing reigniting. Without a word, his head dropped between her legs again, his breath hot against her tender flesh.
She whimpered, her body tensing in anticipation, but she didn’t stop him. She couldn’t. Her legs fell open wider in silent invitation.
He slid two fingers through the slick mess leaking from her, their combined fluids shimmering in the dawn light. He held them up to her mouth, his gray eyes dark with expectation.
Her lips parted in automatic obedience, her pride too shattered to mount a denial. He pressed his wet fingers down onto her tongue, the taste of their union flooding her senses—salty, musky, and deeply intimate. As he lifted his wand, he kept his gaze locked on hers.
“Put your wrists up,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. “Let me restrain them above you.”
Her eyes went wide with a flicker of panic, but she did it, raising her arms above her head in a gesture of total surrender. With a flick of his wand, silken bonds shot from the headboard, wrapping snugly around her wrists and pulling them taut.
Then his mouth dove back between her legs, his tongue lapping at her overly sensitive folds with ruthless precision. He planned to make her weep for him the entire day.
He planned to make her weep for him the entire day. His mouth was a ruthless instrument, his tongue laving and probing at her swollen flesh with a precision that felt surgical in its intent to dismantle her. The silken bonds held her fast, a stark reminder of her voluntary captivity, and every desperate tug against them only tightened the knots.
“Please, Draco… I can’t,” she begged, her voice a ragged sob, the words dissolving into a broken cry as his teeth grazed her oversensitive clit.
“You can,” he growled against her thigh, his breath hot. “And you will. You’ll come until you forget your own name.”
He drove two fingers back inside her, curling them up to that spot that made her vision blur. Her body was a live wire of sensation, every nerve ending screaming in a confused chorus of pleasure and pain. She was an absolute pleading mess, writhing against the sheets, her mind stripped of everything but the feel of his mouth and his hands. She had never felt so thoroughly used, so exquisitely ruined. His touches felt like a dark worship, a devotion to her complete unraveling.
After what felt like a lifetime of peaks, her body went slack, certain it was spent. A numb exhaustion washed over her. Then his fingers pistoned into her, hard and fast, a brutal, rhythmic assault that brooked no argument. Her eyes rolled back in her head as a massive, unfamiliar pressure began to build deep within her core, something beyond the sharp clenches of her previous orgasms.
He watched her dazed, pleasure-filled expression, her mouth slack. His lips closed around her clit, gentle at first, a soft, mocking kiss. Then his eyes snapped up to hers, and he sucked. Hard. So hard on the agonizingly sensitive bud that a sharp spike of pure pain lanced through her.
“No, stop—it hurts!” she cried, trying to buck him off, to pull away from the sudden, shocking intensity.
He didn’t relent. His grip on her hips tightened, pinning her in place, his mouth a vacuum seal of unyielding pressure. The pain splintered, transformed, and then she was exploding. A gush of hot liquid erupted from her, soaking his chin, his neck, the sheets beneath her. It wasn't a gentle flow but a violent, pulsing squirt that wracked her entire body with a pleasure so deep and intoxicating it felt like her soul was being pulled out through her cunt. There was no her, no room, no thought—only pleasure and him and the shattering, endless wave.
When it finally subsided, she was a trembling, sobbing wreck, her body convulsing with aftershocks. He released her clit, his own breathing harsh, and stared at the wet, glistening evidence of her loss of control splattered across his skin and the ruined sheets. A look of raw, stunned triumph burned in his gray eyes.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze never leaving her devastated form. “Look at that,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and possession. “You really are full of surprises.”
With a flick of his wand, the silken bonds vanished. Her arms fell limp to the bed, utterly drained. He moved over her, his hard cock nudging at her tender entrance. She flinched, a fresh sob catching in her throat.
“Shhh,” he soothed, but it was not a sound of comfort. It was a sound of conquest. He pushed into her slowly, the stretch a breathtaking fullness after her violent release. She was impossibly wet, her inner muscles fluttering weakly around his invading length.
He fucked her with a slow, deep, possessive rhythm, each thrust a deliberate claim on a body he had thoroughly conquered. She could do nothing but take it, her whimpers muffled against his shoulder, her fingers weakly clutching at his back.
“Mine,” he breathed into her ear, the word a final seal on her surrender.
He came inside her with a low, guttural groan, his own climax a deep, pulsing flood that seemed to go on forever. He collapsed atop her, his weight a final anchor. They lay there in the wreckage of the morning, the only sound their labored breathing and the distant chatter of students in the corridor outside, a world away.
They lay there in the wreckage of the morning, the only sound their labored breathing and the distant chatter of students in the corridor outside, a world away. His weight was a solid, anchoring warmth, his softening cock still nestled deep inside her, a possessive claim her body accepted with a final, weak clench. He didn’t pull away, instead shifting just enough to wrap his arms around her, turning them onto their sides without breaking their intimate connection.
The scent of him—cedar, sweat, and sex—wrapped around her like a tangible thing, a blanket smothering the last embers of her resistance. Her muscles, strained and liquid, refused to hold any tension. Every thought dissolved into the haze of utter exhaustion, her mind drifting on the slow, steady rhythm of his heart against her back. As consciousness faded, a single, shocking image floated to the surface: waking to find him between her thighs once more, his mouth a demanding promise.
The thought coaxed a soft, unbidden smile onto her lips as she clung to the solid strength of his forearm draped over her waist. Since it was a weekend with no classes, he didn't bother making them get up. He’d decided he would spend the entire day with her, and perhaps another night too.
He’d decided he would spend the entire day with her, and perhaps another night too. The distant sounds of the castle stirring did not belong to them; their world was the humid, scent-thick silence of her room. He watched the slow, steady rise and fall of her breathing, her body a warm weight against his. A possessive calm settled over him, a feeling so foreign it was almost unsettling.
Her fingers, which had been splayed weakly against his arm, twitched. A soft, incoherent murmur escaped her lips. He shifted, his semi-hard cock, still nestled within her warmth, stirring instinctively. Her inner muscles fluttered in a sleepy, involuntary response, a phantom echo of the violent pleasure that had wracked her body. The sensation was a low current zipping straight up his spine.
“You’re still here,” she mumbled, her voice raspy from screaming.
“I’m not done,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. He rolled his hips, a slow, deep grind that made her gasp. Her eyes, heavy-lidded and hazy, fluttered open to meet his. There was no defiance in them now, only a deep, satiated exhaustion, and beneath that, a flicker of raw hunger that mirrored his own.
He withdrew from her slowly, the separation audibly wet. He moved down her body, his hands sliding under her thighs, pushing them up and apart. The sight of her, glistening and swollen, her delicate folds puffy and abused from his mouth and his cock, sent a fresh surge of heat through him. He lowered his head, his breath ghosting over her sensitized flesh.
“Draco, please,” she whispered, a weak protest. “I’m so sore.”
“I know,” he said, and then his tongue was on her, not with its earlier brutality, but with a slow, languorous precision that was somehow more devastating. He licked into her, lapping up their combined mess, savoring the taste of salt and sex and her unique, wild magic. He circled her throbbing clit with a torturous lightness, making her whimper and twist.
His fingers joined his mouth, sliding into her with an easy familiarity. He crooked them, finding that deep, rough spot, and pressed. A broken cry tore from her throat. Her hands fisted in the sheets, her back arching off the mattress. “Fuck… oh, god…”
“You like this,” he murmured against her, his words a vibration against her most sensitive nerves. “You like being my used, little cunt. Don’t you?”
She couldn’t form a denial. Her body was answering for her, clenching around his fingers, her hips bucking against his face. He sucked her clit into his mouth, applying a steady, relentless pressure, and felt the telltale tremors begin deep inside her. He fucked her with his fingers through a shuddering, sobbing orgasm, drinking every pulse of her release.
Before the last tremor had even faded, he was moving over her, aligning his hard length with her entrance. He pushed in, not with a single thrust, but with a slow, inexorable pressure that stretched her exquisitely. She was so open, so impossibly wet, that he slid to the hilt in one smooth, deep glide. A long, shuddering sigh escaped her.
He began to move, a deep, rhythmic pistonning that was less about frenzy and more about claiming. Each thrust was measured, deliberate, branding her from the inside. He watched her face, mesmerized by the play of overwhelming sensation—the fluttering of her eyelids, the part of her lips, the faint sheen of sweat on her temples.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough.
Her green eyes, dazed and unfocused, found his. The connection was electric, more intimate than any carnal act. He was buried inside her, his gaze locked with hers, and in that moment, there were no masks, no games. There was only this raw, unsettling truth.
“Who do you belong to?” he asked, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper.
“You,” she breathed, the word a surrender and a confession. “I’m yours.”
He drove into her, once, twice, a third time, and with a guttural roar, he spilled his seed deep within her, his own climax a powerful, pulsing release that seemed to draw the last of his strength from him. He collapsed onto her, his face buried in the curve of her neck, their hearts hammering a frantic, synchronized rhythm against each other.
He lay there, holding her, feeling a victory unlike what he’d imagined. She had submitted to him, the Serenity Hawke, had willingly gave him her all and it had been the greatest pleasure he’d ever experienced. He knew no other would ever come close. He knew she was wild and free and not what he should crave, she was trouble wrapped in mischievous looks and falsely innocent and fragile stature, but still a walking wet dream. She was fucking everything. Everything he wanted, even if she could be infuriating, classless, and sharp tongued. He wanted her, as wild as she was, and as he looked back down at her resting on his chest, he hoped she wanted him too.